In the Southern Field of Polk-Lore. 209
��IN THE SOUTHERN FIELD OF FOLK-LORE.
The effort to extend folk-lore investigations in the South will no doubt bear valuable fruit, but the work is going to be somewhat slow and difficult, I fear.
The importance of the material is not sufficiently appreciated, even among cultured people. If they can be made to understand that the folk-lore of a people is part of the history of that people, they will doubtless awaken to active appreciation.
The publication, some months since, in this Journal, of an article entitled " Some Mountain Superstitions of the South," brought to me several contributions of folk-lore, and from them I have selected the following.
Mr. William T. Howard, of Lancing, Tenn., was reared in the Cumberland Mountains. I know him as a reliable man. He writes that some years since, while collecting for a sewing-machine com- pany, he passed three days at the home of a Mr. Massengale, in Scott County. Mr. Massengale was then about eighty years of age, but was as physically and mentally vigorous as most men in middle life. He was a strong believer in witchcraft, and some of the stories which he related Mr. Howard has given me in the old gentleman's own language, as nearly as he can recall it.
A BEWITCHED GUN.
" For many years," said he, " I made my living by hunting, and many deer, bear, turkeys, and all sorts of varmints to be found in these mountings, have I killed:
" I was considered a powerful good shot with a rifle, and that I certainly was.
" One morning, howsom'ever, I went out, and the first thing I knew I had a fine shot at a big deer, which was standing stock- still, broadside toward me. I raised my gun, took good aim, and expected of course to drop him dead in his tracks. But I missed him, point blank. He made a few jumps and then stood stock- still until I had wasted three shots on him, and had n't cut a hair. Then he ran off.
" This sort of thing went on for several days. I had lots of power- ful fine close shots, but could n't hit a thing. .
" I told my wife that there was something awful wrong, either with me or with the gun. She told me I had better go to the witch- doctor, as it was likely my gun was bewitched.
" I went to the witch-doctor, who told me to go into the woods near a certain house, pick out a tree, and name it after the woman
vol. xiii. — no. 50. 14
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